


Love Letters

by HideTheDecay



Series: Love Letters [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 13:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HideTheDecay/pseuds/HideTheDecay
Summary: Without their healer, they were crippled and without Anders… Everyone was somber lately. “I brought these for you.” He looked down at them and then held the box for him. “They were Anders’, but… you should have them.”
Relationships: Anders/Fenris, Fenris/Anders
Series: Love Letters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546168
Comments: 13
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

The battle was grueling and Fenris was beginning to doubt that this was a fight they could win. They’d been at it for what felt like hours. Already his leg had been broken and the mage had mended it so he could continue the fight. They’d all been hurt and they had all been patched up enough to stay in the battle, but there were still so many bandits. 

The warrior hacked one of them nearly in two with a swing of his sword, then lunged for another, phasing a hand through him and yanking his spine through his torso. He’d killed so many, but somehow they just kept coming. He was just about to swing for another when a rogue caught him by surprise. He sensed him just a little too late and didn’t have time to phase away from him before the blade had cleaved a deep gash across his throat. 

Fenris collapsed to his knees, blood gushing from his opened neck. He dropped his sword and pressed his hands to his neck in a desperate, instinctive attempt to stop the spray of his blood. He gasped for air, the sound an awful and wet, as he looked around to see if the rogue was still near enough to finish the job.

\---

He’d drained the last of his lyrium and he was almost out of mana. He’d stopped using his magic offensively a while ago and now he was flinging heals every which way. He fought with his staff, with which he held his own well enough to drive his attackers away. He was, as always, one of the main targets, but the rogues were doing a good job of keeping him surrounded and making sure he wasn’t overwhelmed. 

The longer it went on, the more worried he was. They’d never been in a battle like this… They shouldn’t even be here. There were too many bandits and they’d miscalculated their odds. Even with a larger group than usual, everyone but Aveline, it wasn’t enough once they’d realized what they were up against. 

Something bad was going to happen. 

Sure enough, he saw Fenris fall. He saw the swipe of the blade and he saw the blood start to spill. His eyes widened and he screamed, “Fenris!” Without thought, he ran to him, his staff falling as his hands swept through the air, using a heal so strong he shouldn’t have been able to cast it as empty as he was. 

The attacker turned to see the healer rushing towards them and without hesitating, his wrist snapped back and he threw the bloody dagger at him.

Anders didn’t even see it coming. He was so focused on Fenris, on saving Fenris, that he ran _into_ the dagger, the metal sinking deeply into his neck. His eyes widened and he stumbled, then fell. He crashed hard to his side, his hands lifting to his neck, at first simply shocked, then shifting as if to tug it out so he could heal himself, though he’d already used everything he had on the elf. 

\---

Fenris felt the heal and knew he’d been given another chance to keep fighting. He staggered to his feet with his sword, coughing up some blood that was still in his throat, but his eyes fell on the rogue that had gotten him. He cleaved through the man, though his swing was clumsy and his sword felt so heavy. He’d lost a lot of blood and he needed rest. 

While he was looking for his next attacker, his gaze found the healer on the ground. Writhing with a dagger in his neck. Only then did he realize why the rogue had been facing away from him. Anders had run to them when he’d fallen. 

The warrior trudged over to him, guarding him from any more attackers while he waited for him to mend himself. When he didn’t immediately get up, he looked at him a little closer. He still hadn’t pulled the blade out. “What are you waiting for? I can’t hold them off long.” He didn’t have much left in him, but even as dazed as he felt after the damage he’d taken, he could tell something was wrong.

\---

He was panicked, but his strength was failing him. He pulled on it, but nothing. He heard… something. He was surrounded by the sounds of fighting and there was what might have been a voice, but the blood was pounding in his ears. It was poured out of him, out of his mouth, and he was choking on it. His robes were turning red, his eyes were rolling, and in the back of his mind, he felt scratching. Scrabbling.

Justice. 

The panic wasn’t only his. He knew what was happening to him, but the shock still had hold. 

\---

“Mage!” He shouted and when he’d beaten enough bandits back to give them a little room, he knelt beside him. He wasn’t going to heal himself. Either he couldn’t because he didn’t have the mana, or he was simply too far gone. “Someone help him!” He demanded, unsure if he could even be heard over the fight. As if they had some other healer who could come over and do the job. If Anders died here, chances were that they were all going to die here.

\---

When the others realized what had happened, they rallied. There were shouts and they moved in. Varric was the first to reach them and he tried to push Fenris out of the way. “Back up, Broody.” He already had a potion in hand that he was ripping the cork from. 

Finally there was enough movement for Anders to focus. He saw Fenris and for a few beats of his failing heart, he stared at him. Then his eyes started to lose focus. Varric yanked the dagger out and put the potion to his lips. “Come on, Blondie, come on.” He tried to pour it in, but it pooled at the back of his throat and flowed past his lips. 

The dwarf desperately tried to trigger his swallowing reflex, but the healer went limp. His hands fell and an emptiness entered his eyes. His expression. His head lulled to the side and the potion poured out completely. 

“Shit, no. No, B-Blondie.” He pulled his face back up, his hand scrambling for another potion. “Shit, shit. Someone help.” He needed someone to hold his head in place. He looked up, panicking, and saw that the others were occupied, struggling to keep the bandits from closing in.

\---

As soon as Varric moved in to help, Fenris was back in the fray. He had to keep the enemies off of the mage and the dwarf trying to make him drink a potion. He snarled and slashed at the bandits as they drew near, using the last reserves of his strength. He was exhausted, he was taking more hits as his dodging grew more sloppy, but his ferocity still had him tearing through the men. He was still half convinced they were going to die from the overwhelming fight, but he was starting to realize that the end of the swarm of bandits was finally in sight.

\---

It was only a minute later that everything went still. The bandits that were left, wounded or simply frightened, saw that they weren’t going to win and fled. The entire party was injured, but all eyes went to the pair on the ground. To Anders and Varric, both motionless. The dwarf was still knelt at his side, two vials empty on the ground. The mage was soaked in red, not only from his blood, but also the potions that had mixed into it. 

For once, Varric had nothing to say.

\---

Fenris simply stared, unable to believe what he was seeing. He was a healer. This wasn’t supposed to happen to someone who could heal themselves. ...Unless he’d used the very last of what he had to save him. His hand moved up to the spot on his throat where the gash had been. “...He took that dagger to save me. I was about to die and he saved me.” When his voice filled the silence, he was talking to himself as much as anyone else. 

\---

It seemed no one had anything to follow with. Finally, it was too much and Varric found the words that were failing him. “Of course he did.” That was exactly what Anders would do. He would die to save someone else, even someone he hated, because that was simply the sort of man he was. He reached up and carefully closed his eyes, making him look less… gone. It was still a garish sight, but at least now he seemed to be sleeping. 

Hawke, knowing that he had to do something, spoke up. “Tend to your wounds, everyone. Anders- Anders would want that.” He would want to make sure everyone was taken care of. “We’ll figure out a way to take him… home.” Whatever that meant.

\---

“There were tarps in that camp nearby. I can get one so we can pull him with us.” Isabela said, but hardly recognized her own voice. It was thick with unshed tears. 

Fenris turned and walked away from them, needing space. He’d seen a lot of people die, some of them good men. But no one had ever died to save him, at least not since he’d been free. He would tend to his wounds, as he usually did without help from the mage. But it was surreal that the healer wouldn’t be fussing over how much faster he could do it with magic.

\---

Everyone was tired and the time seemed to pass slowly, but eventually it was time to get moving. They used the tarps that Isabela had mentioned and carefully wrapped him up. No one spoke about what they were going to do when they returned to Kirkwall and right now, Hawke didn’t want to talk about it.

He needed to a buried, but they were all so tired. They needed to rest, if they were going to honor him properly and he more than deserved it. He’d make some arrangements tonight and then tomorrow… Tomorrow could be about Anders. 

\---

It was such a quiet walk back to Kirkwall. There was no banter, no bickering. Fenris was near the front of the pack, needing to charge in if there was any trouble on the way back, but he still kept some distance from everyone. As much as he hated the healer, he had every intention of helping to bury him. It was the least he could do after the man gave his life for him. In the meantime, he’d go home, drink down the potions he had stored in his cupboard, then lay down and sleep. As Hawke said, he needed to take care of himself and it was what Anders would want.


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke felt ill as he made his way to the mansion not so far from his own. In his hands was a box that held a stack of journals. Six of them, to be precise. Journals that themselves were stuffed with words. Every single one of them was worn and had every page written in. All but one, anyway. The one on top wasn’t finished and, sadly, would never be finished. 

Hawke hadn’t meant to snoop, but in the process of trying to figure out what to do with all of the mage’s things, he’d come across them. At first he’d been confused - truthfully, he was still confused - but it hadn’t taken much reading to realize what it was. What it meant. That Anders’ death had a depth to it that none of them could have fathomed. That there were feelings there that none of them would have ever imagined. 

“It’s me,” he called as soon as he was inside, climbing the steps that lead to his room. 

\---

Fenris sighed heavily from his place in front of the fire. He didn’t want to see anyone. But if he had to see someone, he’d prefer that it was Hawke. He was deep into his second bottle of wine for the night, simply trying to numb himself as he had since Anders had died. It would be different if the mage had just died. But he’d died to save _him_. The funeral had been rough, with so many people beyond their group to mourn the healer, and he was dreading the next time the group got together for something. It was going to be hard for everyone with one of their own gone. He hoped that Hawke wasn’t here to propose the first mission since the loss.

\---

He stepped into the room and wasn’t at all surprised to see him in front of the fireplace with a bottle of wine. “Hey…” It took a moment for him to move closer, looking at him as if he was trying to figure something out. “How are you?” He seemed to have taken Anders’ death hard, which was a surprise to some degree, but after finding these journals… Maybe there was something there that he hadn’t realized. 

\---

“Fine.” It wasn’t a very convincing answer. He looked to Hawke, his eyes falling to the crate. “Do you have work for me?” Maybe whatever he brought had something to do with it. He hoped not, though. He wanted at least a few more days to himself before he tried to resume some sort of normalcy.

\---

“No.” He wasn’t ready for it. None of them were. He wanted to get back to it, but their loss had been devastating. Without their healer, they were crippled and without Anders… Everyone was somber lately. “I brought these for you.” He looked down and them and then held the box for him. “They were Anders’, but… you should have them.”

\---

He frowned deeply, but took the box offered to him out of curiosity. It seemed to contain books. “He wouldn’t have left anything for me. Why don’t you give these to Varric?” Maybe Hawke felt like each person from their group should have something of Anders’. He didn’t want it though. The people he was close to could have his things.

\---

“They’re for you.” He didn’t want to explain. He left it at that. “I think you’re reading well enough that you should be able to read them on your own.” Without him. He didn’t want to help him with this. It was too personal. He didn’t want to read anymore than he already had. “I don’t mean to drop in and out, but I should get going. There’s still a lot to clear out of the clinic.” He’d taken as much as he could to his place, up through the cellar entrance, but there was more still to pack up. 

\---

His brows furrowed. They were for him? “...Okay. I’ll see you later.” He was confused, but he still wasn’t up for company. If Hawke wanted to leave just as suddenly as he’d arrived, fine. He could investigate what these books were about on his own and if he got stuck, he could ask the rogue for help reading them later.

\---

“See you, Fenris.” With a final look, he turned and headed out. He wasn’t entirely sure whether what he’d done was for the best, but it felt wrong that whatever Anders felt would die with him. It was up to Fenris. He could read them if he wanted to, or he could not. Either way, if they belong with anyone, they belonged with him.

\---

Fenris looked down at the box in his lap when Hawke left. For a long moment, that’s all he did. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him and he plucked the first book from the box. As soon as he opened it, he realized it wasn’t actually book, but a journal. Not just any journal, but one full of letters. It was clear why Hawke felt he should have these. Flipping to a handful of random pages made it seem that all of these letters were to him. His heart was pounding in his ears as he turned back to the first entry, taking his time to read through it and see what Anders had wanted to say to him.

The letter was fairly uneventful, speaking of picking up yet another journal and how his day in the clinic had been. The strange thing about it had been that he’d wished him well and signed it “Love, Anders”. Love? He frowned deeply and plucked up another journal from the pile, choosing one closer to the bottom of the crate. Maybe this one would make a little more sense.

This one was dated years earlier than the other entry he read. It was about a fight they’d had, about something terrible he’d said. If Anders wrote about all the awful things he said to him, many letters would probably be like this. But what made his stomach turn was that it was signed “Still love you, Anders”. Apparently he did, since years later, he’d still been signing his letters that way. His throat was thickening and he swallowed it down as he tucked the journals back into the box and set it aside. He wasn’t prepared to deal with this. Anders had just died for him and he was not prepared for hundreds of pages of what appeared to be love letters from him. Love letters from the man who seemed to hate him and yet, had died in his place. He needed more wine, finding he had a brand new reason to numb himself.


	3. Chapter 3

It was almost a month before Fenris was ready to examine the journals that had been given to him again. He wouldn’t have expected himself to need so much time to get over Anders’ death, but there had been layers to it that he couldn’t have foreseen. That the mage had feelings for him in some way, despite how well he’d hidden them, and that he’d been willing to give his life for him made it far harder to resume any sort of normal schedule. 

Part of him wanted to forget the journals and pretend he’d never learned about them. But more of him wanted to read them. It wouldn’t be easy, but he needed to get through them. Even if he’d never actually been meant to read them, it felt like he was supposed to now. Maybe it was what Anders would have wanted. 

He skimmed through them, finding that most of the pages were dated and he was able to put them in order. If he was going to get through them, he should start at the beginning. He sat down in his chair in front of the fireplace and began to read, getting through several letters before he was overwhelmed by it and had to close the journal for the night. At the beginning, at least, some of the animosity had been real. They had fought and Anders had been frustrated with him, wishing that they could be friends. He hadn’t known that Anders had really wanted to be his friend. He wouldn’t have been his friend even if he had known that. But these letters didn’t end in “love”, so it seemed his feelings hadn’t run deep, at least at that point.

Making himself confront all of the letters was intimidating, but he found that in dedicating one night a week to reading them, he was making steady progress. The rest of the week he could try not to think about Anders or these unspoken words, but for saving his life, he would give the mage one night each week to express all that he’d wanted to say to him. 

At the pace he’d set, it took him nearly three months to get through the first two journals. He followed Anders accepting that he was starting to fall in love with him, as futile as that love would be. He learned the things the man had loved about him and he learned the things that had infuriated him. Whether he was earning more of his love or his ire, it was clear that the mage was hurting. His pain was all over the pages. Those entries were the hardest to read and required the most wine to get through.

By the time he’d reached the fourth journal, the reading was a little easier. There wasn’t quite so much passion and conflict in those letters. Anders had come to terms with his feelings, to some degree, and that they would never be returned. He talked about little things that had happened that had made him fall in love with him just a little more. He talked about fights that had wounded him deeper than Fenris had intended. But mostly he just talked to him about whatever he was thinking or feeling that day. 

Eight months had passed by the time he was nearing the end of the fifth journal. At this point, he looked forward to the night each week that he would read from the journals. It had begun to feel like he was spending time with a friend. A friend he’d never really had and only had in a very distant sense now. But the letters had helped him come to know Anders far better than he would have ever allowed in life.

When he began the sixth and final journal, a sense of dread filled him. It was nearly over. His journey through Anders’ thoughts and feelings would end prematurely as this was the journal that had never been finished. He didn’t want them to stop. When he finished this, the new ‘relationship’ he’d formed would remain as incomplete a the journal itself. With this in mind, he forced himself to take his time, reading only a couple letters each week. Anything to make it last just a little longer.

As much as he hated it, he eventually reached the final letter in the journal. The last he would ever hear from the man who loved him so truly and deeply no matter how poorly he’d been treated in return. The letter itself was one of the fairly mundane ones. It was probably better that way. It felt less final. But what knocked the wind out of him was the last line of the letter. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” 

That had been their final day together. That last horrific fight. Anders had seen him about to bleed out and had given his own life instead. He wondered if the mage had heard or seen him calling for help and trying to protect him in his final moments. He hoped he had. He hoped that it would in some small way make him feel like he’d cared about him in return as he’d taken his last breaths. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he closed the journal and packed it away. It was over. He’d read everything the mage had wanted to say to him. He didn’t know if he’d ever find Anders in the Fade when it was his own turn to go, but he hoped so. He hoped he could tell him that he was sorry. Maybe in the Fade, they could start over.


End file.
